Craved By My Husband's Best Friend

7. Rejection Hurts Like A B*tch

Marissa POV

The air conditioning in the HR office was dialed down to a bone chilling temperature, but my palms were still damp. I sat on the edge of the designer chair, watching Mrs. Gable a woman whose glasses were perched so far down her nose they seemed to be defying gravity flip through my CV with the enthusiasm of someone reading a grocery receipt.

"I see here you have a degree in Fashion & Jewelry Design," she said, her voice a flat, practiced drone. "But the last three years are... blank, Mrs. Harrison."

"I was managing my husband’s household and coordinating his professional events," I said, trying to make 'stay-at-home-wife' sound like a high level executive position. "I handled the logistics for several multi-million dollar charity galas and—"

"We are so sorry, Marissa," she interrupted, finally looking up. Her smile didn't reach her eyes. it was the kind of look you give a stray cat you have no intention of feeding.

"But we are currently looking for people with actual corporate experience. A lot has changed in the industry in two years. Bla, bla, bla..."

The rest of her speech was a blur of corporate jargon and polite dismissals. Ten minutes later, I was back on the sidewalk, the heavy glass doors of the fifth company clicking shut behind me like a giant, expensive deadbolt.

"Oh my God, rejection hurts like a b***h!" I hissed at the brick wall.

My stomach let out a hollow, aggressive growl that actually hurt. I hadn't eaten since a piece of toast at dawn, and the adrenaline of the hunt was finally curdling into pure, unadulterated bitterness. I should have listened to my mother.

She’d been against the idea of me being a housewife from the very start, warning me that "depending on a man is like building a house on sand." At the time, I thought she was just being cynical.

Now, standing here with a stack of crumpled resumes and a husband who had traded my life for a $300 million debt, I realized she was a prophet. She had probably known this is how it'd end but I was too in love to see it. How foolish I had been back then? How silly? Besides how am I going to break this news to her? She is not really a big fan of divorce. I better get my life together before breaking any news to my parents.

I began to walk, my heels clicking rhythmically against the hot pavement. It wasn't until I reached the corner that I realized exactly where I was. Two blocks away stood the Grand ....Nate’s favorite haunt, and the place where half his circle spent their afternoons drinking away their family's money.

I felt a sour smirk crawl across my face. "I would have never wanted to work here anyway," I muttered, trying to cajole myself into feeling better. "I wouldn't want to work near a cheater or see anyone related to him or his pathetic, lying circle."

I breathed a huge sigh of relief, as if saying the words out loud could physically purge the scent of Nate’s expensive cologne from my memory. I turned toward the nearest restaurant, my eyes fixed on a neon 'Open' sign, and took a confident step forward.

And ran straight into a wall of solid brick.

Or at least, that’s what it felt like.

The impact was so sudden that the breath was knocked out of my lungs. My CVs exploded into the air, fluttering like white flags of surrender. I stumbled back, my balance gone, but before I could hit the concrete, a pair of steady, powerful hands clamped onto my forearms.

The heat from his palms soaked through my blazer instantly. I looked up, an apology already forming on my lips, but the words died in my throat.

He was the most stunning man I had ever seen. He had a pair of ocean blue eyes that were so sharp and deep they felt like they were looking through my skin and into my secrets. His lips were a natural, hot pink, pulled into a faint, knowing line, and his slick black hair was so perfectly styled it made my own disheveled appearance feel like a crime.

I opened my lips to apologize, but nothing came out. I was a fish out of water, gasping at the sheer, magnetic presence of him. He knelt down with a fluid, predatory grace, gathered my fallen papers, and slid them back into my arms.

"Careful, Mrs. Harrison," he muttered.

Before I could ask how he knew me, he did something that made my heart skip three beats. He reached out and used his thumb to gently push my lower jaw up, closing my gaping mouth for me. The touch was brief, electric, and—strangely—it felt familiar. Like a ghost of a sensation I’d felt once before in the dark.

"What? How do you know my name?" I asked, furrowing my brows as my face began to burn.

"It’s written all over your CV," he said politely, gesturing to the top page.

I looked down and my heart nearly stopped. Not only was my name glaring back at me, but I realized in horror that a tiny drop of drool had actually hit the corner of the paper while I was staring at him. f**k. I needed to control myself. I needed to get my act together before this man thought I was some weirdo who hadn't seen a handsome man in a decade.

"I am Xavier Sterling, by the way," he continued, his voice dropping into a low, grounded baritone.

"Oh... really?" I muttered, frantically trying to wipe the smudge off the paper with my thumb. "I didn't ask. And besides, I never said that I was married, so why did you call me 'Mrs'—"

I looked up to finish the sentence, but the sidewalk was empty. He was gone. He hadn't just walked away. he’d vanished into the midday crowd like he had never been there at all. I was left standing there, talking to a space that was rapidly being filled by other pedestrians.

"Poor girl," someone muttered. I turned to see an older woman walking past, shooting me with a look of deep concern. "The rate at which these college students lose their minds because of the stress is quite alarming," she said to her companion as they hurried off.

"Did she just think I have gone insane?"

That was all I could say as I stared at their retreating figures, my skin still buzzing from the touch of a man who didn't even wait to hear my answer.